“Okay so tomorrow it is. Around 2:00?”
“2:00 is fine” They had arrived at the bakery, and were standing outside Libby’s car both unwiling to end the evening.
Tony weighed his options. He could hug her-- pul her into his arms, fil his hands with her hips, smel her shampoo… Of course kissing her goodnight would be better. A brief brush of his mouth against hers would be innocent enough, if less than satisfying. What he wanted to do was back her up against the car, and devour her mouth.
That mouth that he felt sure he could drown in, and stil die happy. And her throat, he needed to know what her skin would taste like along her neck. He wanted to touch her, to feel the weight of her breasts, the softness of her skin…
okay that option was out. Instead of al of those things he raised their stil intertwined fingers, dropped a kiss on the back of her hand, and said “ ‘night Lib” before he walked back to his own car.
Chapter Nine
The next day Tony arrived as promised right at 2:00. Libby set out al the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. It was the most fun Libby ever remembered having with Tony. And that was saying something because Libby always had fun with Tony. She found her mother’s pink Big or Small Save them All apron. (Left over from a breast cancer awareness bake sale a few years before). Of course being the champ that he was Tony donned the apron without comment. They worked most of the morning.
Libby didn’t often make one batch of cookies. That’s what comes from growing up with a baker. So they ate the first batch while they made batches two through nine to be donated to the local lions clubs’ for the annual apple festival the folowing week. Batch number ten Libby wrapped up for Tony to take back to New Jersey with him.
Under Libby’s watchful eye Tony didn’t burn a single tray of cookies, and he kept his tasting-spoon out of the raw dough. Even after spending the entire previous evening together Libby and Tony found conversation flowed easily throughout the afternoon.
“Thanks Lib. I won’t tel you how quick those are going to get eaten, or how much extra time I am going to have to spend at the gym.” Tony was doing the dishes talking over his shoulder at her. There was something almost tender about that moment that kept Libby from replying. She was sure her voice would crack if she tried to speak. So many times in her greatest when-I-grow-up fantasies she had pictured similar situations. Only the dishes wouldn’t have been left over from a baking lesson, so much as left over from dinner. A roast she had spent al afternoon on for her, and Tony, and their three kids. Kids that would have had Tony’s chocolate hair and Italian skin tone. But that was in the past. And hadn’t Libby grown up since the days of waiting for Tony to see her as more than a friend?
So she pushed those thoughts aside. There would be no roast, and no olive skinned babies.
It was almost dinner time. Tony dried his hands after stacking the last of the cookie sheets in a drying rack.
He turned and watched where Libby was wiping down the counters. There was flour in her hair, and on her hands, and smudged up to her elbows. God she was pretty. He wanted to walk up behind her and tel her that she made flour look good. He wanted to tug the braid out of her hair and let if fal through his fingers. There were a lot of things he wanted to do. “Should we get some food? Or I know an arcade where I can let you win at Skee Bal again?” Tony wasn’t hungry after an afternoon of cookies, but he didn’t want to go home either.
“In your dreams Marchetti.” Libby hadn’t eaten nearly as many cookies as Tony and she was starving, but she felt a distinct emotional backslide coming on, and needed time to get her head together. “I’m not realy that hungry. And I have a lot of packing to do stil. Rain check?”
Inside Tony crashed. “Yeah too many cookies—
I’m sure I couldn’t eat either.” Carefuly he puled out his cheeriest fake smile (The one usualy reserved for great Aunt Milicent who smeled like cats, but who Dad insisted on inviting for thanksgiving anyway) and started gathering his jacket to leave. “Tomorrow. What would you like to do tomorrow?”
He was trying to kil her. “I have to leave pretty early Monday morning and I am sure your parents want to early Monday morning and I am sure your parents want to spend time with you.”
Even his Aunt Milie smile was failing him. But Tony was nothing if not determined. “Okay wel get your packing finished tonight. And I wil pick you up in the morning.
We’l go to the Y and run.” Smooth he thought to himself.
She was going to dust him—so not the way to impress a girl. “And when we come back I wil help you load your boxes so you’l be able to sleep in a little on Monday.